The Mysterious Messenger

by Gilbert Ford

  Pay no mind to your mother.

  You’ll have to disobey her

  If you’re to help Mrs. Fisher.

  I’ll write another letter

  About the buried treasure.

  But you must bring the riddle

  To the house of Mrs. Fisher …

  Maria read Edward’s writing twice. How could she keep disobeying her mother? Madame Destine was already suspecting her of revealing the family scheme. Why couldn’t Edward just tell her what she needed to know?

  “Edward! I could get into a lot of trouble by visiting her again,” she said. But then she yawned. Maria eased back on her mattress. It was getting late.

  Edward’s cool grip stung her wrist and guided it back to the paper on the floor. “Okay! I’ll take it to Mrs. Fisher,” Maria said in the midst of another yawn.

  Maria was still perplexed about disobeying her mother. She felt along the floor for the pen. Once everything was in place, she settled back into her trance. “Okay, Edward. Tell me about the treasure.”

  Maria was not sure how long her hand moved back and forth. When she snapped out of her sleep, a faint band of morning light showed beneath the door. Maria found the sheet of paper on the floor filled with words:

  Dizzy drove rhythmic honks through

  Village streets.

  Jackson dripped and flung his paint

  On canvas.

  Neal, Jack, and Allen beat the Times Square Hustle

  With poetry.

  We were the underbelly, served on the blue plate special by The Media.

  With trumpet, brush, a pen, and paper, we were well Seasoned and delicious.

  Your husband dined with us and served all on

  His menu.

  But you kept the candles burning long after the dinners

  Had ended.

  Feast your eyes on this teaser, for your main course

  Is treasure.

  Maria read the message four times, but it was just a jumble of words. Who were these names? And what main course was coming? Maria wasn’t sure if the hidden treasure was food or gold and jewels. “Why can’t you just tell me where the treasure is?” Maria said. But Edward’s presence was long gone. There were only the loud snores of Madame Destine from behind the door.

  Maria folded the message into a square and stuffed it inside her jeans pocket. Then she fell onto her mattress and sank into a deep sleep.

  She tossed and turned under her thin blanket. Suddenly, she was standing on a stage before an audience of one person hidden in shadow. She ran her hands over her sequined sleeve under the hot spotlight.

  The drums rolled, and the light blinded her. She held three items: a cell phone, a diamond ring, and a piece of paper folded into a square. She began to juggle them, but she kept dropping them and having to start over.

  Paper, ring, phone, paper, ring, phone— Was she getting the hang of it? There was motion in the seats below, and the dark form approached the stage.

  Clap! Clap! Clap!

  The figure was clapping steadily in slow motion, the sound growing louder as it neared. But the person’s face was still in shadow.

  Clap! Clap! Clap!

  Faster and faster Maria juggled.

  Clap! Clap! Clap!

  At the stage, the face fell from the shadows to reveal two bulging eyes underneath a heavy turban. Madame Destine!

  “OPPORTUNITY! OPPORTUNITY!” she screeched.

  Maria was confused. This was not the voice of her mother. “Who are you?” she whispered, still juggling.

  Madame Destine grabbed Maria’s arm and squawked, “KNOCK IT OFF! KNOCK IT OFF!”

  The items Maria had juggled dropped one by one to the floor. Then a chill slid down her spine. “Houdini?”

  Her mother smiled and backed away into the shadows.

  Ring! Ring!

  The cell phone vibrated against the wooden stage floor.

  Ring! Ring!

  Maria crouched to pick it up. Her hand shook as she pressed the button and brought the phone to her ear. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. No words could come out. She finally managed to croak, “Hello?”

  “Maria?”

  Maria almost dropped the phone. “Who is this?” she whispered.

  “You’re quite the little performer. You almost had me fooled. Check behind the paintings.” The phone went dead.

  Now there was no mistaking the voice. It was Madame Destine!

  Maria shot up in bed.

  Her face was wet, and she was cloaked in darkness. She must have had a nightmare. The familiar scent of musty coats reassured her that she was still in her closet. She felt around her mattress for the pen and some paper. She placed the pen between her knuckles and hovered over the paper.

  “E-E-E-Edward, are you there?” Her voice trembled.

  The air did not stir.

  “I need to know if everything is going to turn out okay!” Maria knew that her recent actions had placed her in danger, and there was no returning to the way things were.

  She sank into her pillow and tried to fall back to sleep, but her eyes remained open, staring into the black void of uncertainty.

  10

  The Sharks Are Circling

  Hunched at the computer station in the library, Maria stared down at the riddle she’d received the night before, searching for leads. Who or what was Dizzy? Jack was some kind of painter, she knew. And there were three poets with only first names. She googled: “Jack painter,” “poet Allen,” “Dizzy Village,” but nothing came up on the screen that made any sense. Maria sighed and blew her hair from her eyes. She wanted to crack the riddle before she brought the message to Mrs. Fisher. She rubbed her eyes, then opened them again and stared straight at the screen.

  Still nothing.

  But there was something. Something moving in the corner of her vision.

  Two eyes shone from behind the stack of books. Someone on the other side of the bookshelf was watching her.

  Maria quickly turned her head, but the figure ducked.

  She shook it off and brought the paper back in front of her. Kids are so annoying, she thought. She had work to do. After all, Edward had ordered her to find Mrs. Fisher’s treasure. If she solved the riddle, maybe the widow would invite her inside her apartment again and feed her warm bread and butter.

  Ka-thud!

  Four display books toppled onto Maria. A red ball cap darted behind the shelf.

  Maria whipped around. She stood up from her desk but saw nothing out of the ordinary, so she sat down again and tried to focus on her task. The library would be closing soon. She typed in “blue plate special” from Edward’s strange riddle. A bunch of diners and menus popped up. Why couldn’t she find anything worthwhile?

  “What are you doing?” whispered a voice behind her.

  Maria spun abruptly. Sebastian stood before her, grinning shyly.

  “I thought I’d find you here.”

  “Shhhh. I’m concentrating!” Maria told him, but secretly she was glad to see him. Anything was better than trying to make sense of this blue plate whatever.

  “I was thinking that I’d drop by today and get your mom to tell my fortune?”

  Maria’s eyes grew big. “NO! I mean … She’s busy.”

  But Sebastian persisted. “How do I make an appointment? Do I just knock on the door?”

  “Uh. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Maria’s voice grew louder.

  Ms. Madigan waved at her from behind her desk.

  “It’s just … She doesn’t like visitors,” Maria added in a whisper.

  “How come? I thought she was a psychic. Doesn’t she earn her living from visitors?”

  “She likes GROWN-UP visitors. Not kids,” Maria said.

  “But I would be a paying visitor. I saved up my allowance.”

  “I told you no!”

  Sebastian was silent for a second. “How much does she charge?”

  Maria threw her hands up and slid back in her chair. Sh
e knew her mother would not like a nosy neighbor in her parlor and, even worse, a kid that lived directly upstairs. Sebastian would be camped outside her door, and Maria would surely get the blame. Finally, Maria blurted out, “It’s better to just meet here.”

  Sebastian puffed out his lip. “If you say so. But it would be much easier to just—”

  Maria pretended to ignore him and read the lines to the riddle aloud to herself. “Feast your eyes on this teaser, for your main course is treasure.”

  “Treasure?” Sebastian whispered. He dropped down to the seat next to Maria. “Does this have something to do with what you were going on about yesterday? About a treasure?” He snatched Edward’s message from the table.

  Maria shot up from her chair and swiped at the riddle, but Sebastian pulled it out of reach. His brow creased, and his lips moved silently as he read. Then he gave the message back to Maria and said, “It’s just a poem.”

  “A poem?” Maria was annoyed. It couldn’t be that simple. “It’s a riddle! A clue.”

  Sebastian nodded. “And it’s a poem.” He gave an amused smirk and pointed at the lines. “I think it’s a metaphor,” said Sebastian. “We’re learning about them in school.”

  “A meta-what?” asked Maria.

  “My dad orders the blue plate special in diners. It’s food. The poem seems like it’s talking about food, but it’s really talking about a group of artists. Poems are sometimes riddles because you have to decode their metaphors.”

  Maria blew the hair out of her eyes. “But what does it mean?”

  “I suspect it has something to do with artists and poets. I don’t know what Dizzy means, but I’ll bet it has something to do with music.”

  Maria shrugged. “I knew that.” Then she fell into her chair by the computer.

  “Where did you get this?”

  Maria turned her head to the screen. “It’s a secret!” She could see Ms. Madigan out of the corner of her eye. The librarian was watching her.

  “A secret?” asked Sebastian. “Since when is a poem a secret? Who’s it by, and why do you want to know what it means?”

  Maria exhaled loudly before she studied Sebastian. He was smart and asked so many questions. None of them were safe to answer. But he had deciphered that the poem was about artists. And maybe the artists had something to do with the art on Mrs. Fisher’s wall. Could it be that the treasure was behind a painting in Mrs. Fisher’s apartment? Like she’d heard in her dream? He might have just helped her solve where the treasure was. Finally, Maria blurted out, “It’s true. I’m searching for treasure. I followed the woman home yesterday because it’s supposed to be hidden in her apartment. It’s probably behind one of her paintings.”

  “No way!” Sebastian said, grabbing the riddle again. He backed his chair up with a loud screech before Maria could snatch the paper back. “Where did you get this information?”

  “It’s none of your business!” said Maria, flinging her arms at Sebastian while he held the riddle just out of her reach.

  Sebastian folded his arms. “Then I’ll knock on your door!” He waited, as if letting Maria process his threat.

  But Ms. Madigan was walking straight toward them.

  “Don’t ever knock on my door!” Maria said, and snatched the riddle out of Sebastian’s hand. “I told you my mother hates kid visitors.”

  The tap of Ms. Madigan’s heels clicked louder against the floor as the librarian approached. Maria needed to end this conversation fast.

  “Okay, I’ll let you come with me to Mrs. Fisher’s if you promise to never, EVER, under any circumstances, knock on my door.”

  “Can I call you?”

  “No! I mean … I don’t have a phone.”

  “Then how will I know when it’s time to find the treasure?”

  Maria glanced quickly at the librarian before lowering her head. “You won’t.”

  Sebastian sighed and leaned on his elbows at the computer station. “I don’t understand!”

  “Hello, Maria,” said Ms. Madigan.

  Maria gave a forced smile. “Hi, Ms. Madigan.”

  “Glad to see you’re talking with Sebastian. I thought you two would get along.” Ms. Madigan smiled. “But I’m going to have to ask you guys to keep it down a bit.”

  “Sorry, Ms. Madigan.” Maria sighed. “Sebastian was just leaving.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “No one has to leave, Maria. I’m just asking that you keep your voices down,” said Ms. Madigan.

  Maria stared at her sneakers. She just wanted everyone to leave so she could get back to work.

  “Incidentally,” Ms. Madigan began in a cautious tone, “I noticed from the business card that fell from your pocket that your mother works for a local nonprofit.” Ms. Madigan pulled out the bent business card and read, “Mr. Benjamin Edward Factor?”

  “No, she doesn’t,” Sebastian said. He looked directly at Maria as if he had been hit across the face. “She’s a psych—”

  Maria kicked him under the computer station.

  “Ow!”

  “Are you okay?” Ms. Madigan asked Sebastian.

  He nodded back.

  Ms. Madigan turned her attention to Maria again. “Officer O’Malley was hoping to ask your mom some questions but couldn’t reach her.”

  Maria began to realize that the librarian was trying to help her, but all she was doing was making things worse. Maria couldn’t blow her mother’s cover. If the cops came, it was over. They’d take her away, and she’d be an orphan. Madame Destine wasn’t all that kind, but she’d taught Maria all she knew, and she fed her.

  Maria swallowed. She looked at Ms. Madigan and then at Sebastian. “She’s busy,” she said to both of them.

  “I know that,” Ms. Madigan said with a sigh. “When would be a good time to reach her?”

  Maria propelled herself from her chair and backed into a bookshelf. So many questions! She needed to get out of there.

  “I thought your mother was a psychic,” Sebastian said. “The sign even says so outside your—”

  “Be quiet!” Maria whispered. She snatched her message from the table and pushed past Ms. Madigan and Sebastian, jetting for the entrance. She flung open the first door and hit the second one, brushing past a mother with a stroller that was lodged in the doorway.

  Maria ran past the iron gates of the brownstone apartments, over the uneven slabs of sidewalk, until she finally reached her home.

  There was nowhere else to go; everywhere she turned, the sharks were circling.

  11

  Finding a Clue

  It had been a week since Maria had heard from Edward. After all of Ms. Madigan’s questions, Maria had decided it was time to boycott the library—at least for now. So she spent most of her days reading under the dim light bulb in the walk-in closet. If she went outside, she’d run into Sebastian, who’d hound her about finding the treasure and surely get her in trouble with her mother.

  Maria shut her eyes. Images appeared in her mind of soft curtains blowing in a window and light pouring into the living room. Tribal masks hung from walls. A black cat peeked in from the hallway. A tray with a baguette. It was the widow’s apartment.

  If only there was a way to tell Mrs. Fisher everything, but she knew the widow would never believe her. She would start asking questions just like Sebastian and Ms. Madigan. But she was certain the treasure was hidden behind a painting, like in her dream. And the poem about artists seemed to back up her hunch.

  Then Maria’s stomach grumbled. She forced herself off her mattress and into the kitchen. Maria opened a cabinet.

  Empty.

  Then another.

  Empty.

  The food they’d scored from the pawned wedding ring had all been eaten. Mr. Fox was always snacking between meals!

  Maria dragged her feet across the floorboards through the silent home. She figured Madame Destine and Mr. Fox must be out. She dug into the pocket of her dirty jeans, hoping to find a couple of coins to pu
rchase beef jerky at the store.

  Nothing. But wait. She pulled out the MetroCard Mrs. Fisher had given her.

  Well, that solves it, thought Maria. Even if Mrs. Fisher didn’t believe her, she would have to be Maria’s meal ticket again. Maybe the widow would offer her more of that delicious bread.

  * * *

  After about thirty minutes underground, Maria found herself dodging students and tourists on West Fourth Street. The loud groans of buses and congested traffic drowned out Maria’s angry stomach.

  She stood outside the widow’s home and rang the buzzer. Ever so faintly, the melody of piano playing drifted from the second story of the town house. The music stopped.

  What if Mrs. Fisher didn’t want to see her? What was she going to say when she opened the door?

  Light footsteps hit the stairs, and the door slowly creaked open.

  Maria’s mind went blank. Without realizing what she was saying, Maria mumbled, “I … I … I have another clue.”

  Mrs. Fisher beamed, and every line in her face floated an inch higher. “I just knew you’d return! Come inside.” Mrs. Fisher turned and climbed the stairs.

  “I’ve been expecting you, and this time I’m prepared!” said Mrs. Fisher.

  Maria entered the widow’s apartment at the top of the stairs, breathless from the climb. The familiar smell of talcum powder and old books didn’t disturb her this time. It felt good to be back again.

  “Go make yourself at home in the living room,” said the widow. “I’ll be joining you shortly.”

  Maria’s mouth watered at the thought of eating more bread, but she didn’t care what Mrs. Fisher brought her to eat. She would stay long enough for her stomach to stop hurting, then she’d think of an exit strategy.

  Maria took in the strange masks that seemed to stare down at her like an audience of cartoon ghosts. Sheet music rested in clumps on the piano bench, where Mrs. Fisher must have been playing.

  “I visited the market after I saw you last,” the widow said, wheeling her cart into the living room. Another baguette rested on top of it, along with slices of apples, jars of jam, and a pot of tea.